The stench was overpowering. It wafted to my nose. The stench of death. The bodies were everywhere. They littered the ground. Repulsive in their twisted faces that showed feelings of horror and severe agony. What happened to these people that they would die with contorted faces? All of them?
A little boy looked up with unseeing eyes. Just a little blond boy passing the street. Tears whelmed in my azure eyes. What made people do this? This torture of human life. I looked a little closer at the toddler. There were no marks. No signs of a fight. No death marks whatsoever. Just that face of intense pain. The tears now fell down my flushed cheeks. I cried for the boy. I cried for the sister beside him, but mostly I wept for the pain. In all directions I saw suffering.
I started to walk the streets, hoping, praying to God for survivors. None arose on the tiny street with the exotic name. I passed none but bodies, empty shells of life these people must have possessed. The tears still came, flowing steadily down my checks while the vision of horror filled my sight. I walked into the general store. A man was slumped over the counter. A women in front of him. With the women was an infant child. I checked the pulse. All dead.
This couldn't be happening. I ran the streets of the little town, breaking into homes trying desperately to find life. I didn't. Not even a pet was alive. I sank to the ground, picking up whatever I could find to hurtle through the air. A can, a rock, and a coin of a foreign currency. Could I have stopped this? I asked myself over and over in the fading light. The tears stopped, the bank of salty liquid they are made of dried up leaving me with helplessness and sadness without a way to express it.
In the distance the sound of braking earth reached my ears. Trucks. Lots of them. On an instinct I ran backwards into a wall of trees and bushes. Dropping down just before the trucks came in sight I saw the banner which flew from a pole on the back of the truck. An American flag. Such a clash against the green of the army conveyances. I started to raise myself of the soft, spongy ground beneath me. I was Canadian. They could help me. I filled my lungs with air to yell at them then saw what they were doing. Instead of helping the villagers I saw them shooting them. Through the head, through the chest, or arm it didn't matter it seemed. They shot the already dead bodies, stepping into houses doing the same. But what shocked me most, down to the core of my being was the fact they were robbing from the dead. They took the money gathering in into bags then sealing them. There was no glee on their faces as the money stacked to a large amount. No greedy pleasure.
I turned my head from the scene in front of me for a movement in the bushes. What if they had found me? Those horrible man? As in my suspicion a man stepped out of the thick bush. A face dented and scarred. The jagged lines hugging his nose and checks. There was a faint trace of stubble on his chin and hair black as night fell over his eyes. He looked up and I saw his chestnut eyes. Then I noticed the clothes he wore. The same colour and style of the man who were, at this moment, ransacking and mutilating the town. I tried to scream then. Opening my mouth when he shook his head and placed a hand over my mouth. I suddenly became aware of the callus and the firm strength in it. He could kill me and probably will when I try to escape, I thought to myself. If not then I am taken to those men who act like no decent man. In a split second I made my decision and bit down hard on his hand. He cursed swinging his arm madly back and froth. I tasted blood as I scrambled to rise. He swore once more then whacked the side of me skull with a closed fist. I saw black.
A little boy looked up with unseeing eyes. Just a little blond boy passing the street. Tears whelmed in my azure eyes. What made people do this? This torture of human life. I looked a little closer at the toddler. There were no marks. No signs of a fight. No death marks whatsoever. Just that face of intense pain. The tears now fell down my flushed cheeks. I cried for the boy. I cried for the sister beside him, but mostly I wept for the pain. In all directions I saw suffering.
I started to walk the streets, hoping, praying to God for survivors. None arose on the tiny street with the exotic name. I passed none but bodies, empty shells of life these people must have possessed. The tears still came, flowing steadily down my checks while the vision of horror filled my sight. I walked into the general store. A man was slumped over the counter. A women in front of him. With the women was an infant child. I checked the pulse. All dead.
This couldn't be happening. I ran the streets of the little town, breaking into homes trying desperately to find life. I didn't. Not even a pet was alive. I sank to the ground, picking up whatever I could find to hurtle through the air. A can, a rock, and a coin of a foreign currency. Could I have stopped this? I asked myself over and over in the fading light. The tears stopped, the bank of salty liquid they are made of dried up leaving me with helplessness and sadness without a way to express it.
In the distance the sound of braking earth reached my ears. Trucks. Lots of them. On an instinct I ran backwards into a wall of trees and bushes. Dropping down just before the trucks came in sight I saw the banner which flew from a pole on the back of the truck. An American flag. Such a clash against the green of the army conveyances. I started to raise myself of the soft, spongy ground beneath me. I was Canadian. They could help me. I filled my lungs with air to yell at them then saw what they were doing. Instead of helping the villagers I saw them shooting them. Through the head, through the chest, or arm it didn't matter it seemed. They shot the already dead bodies, stepping into houses doing the same. But what shocked me most, down to the core of my being was the fact they were robbing from the dead. They took the money gathering in into bags then sealing them. There was no glee on their faces as the money stacked to a large amount. No greedy pleasure.
I turned my head from the scene in front of me for a movement in the bushes. What if they had found me? Those horrible man? As in my suspicion a man stepped out of the thick bush. A face dented and scarred. The jagged lines hugging his nose and checks. There was a faint trace of stubble on his chin and hair black as night fell over his eyes. He looked up and I saw his chestnut eyes. Then I noticed the clothes he wore. The same colour and style of the man who were, at this moment, ransacking and mutilating the town. I tried to scream then. Opening my mouth when he shook his head and placed a hand over my mouth. I suddenly became aware of the callus and the firm strength in it. He could kill me and probably will when I try to escape, I thought to myself. If not then I am taken to those men who act like no decent man. In a split second I made my decision and bit down hard on his hand. He cursed swinging his arm madly back and froth. I tasted blood as I scrambled to rise. He swore once more then whacked the side of me skull with a closed fist. I saw black.